


meat lover's

by tinygrunt



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, FMA Secret Santa 2017, Gen, M/M, pizza deliverer ling yao at ur unfortunate service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinygrunt/pseuds/tinygrunt
Summary: In the face of a grueling all-nighter, Edward just wants a pizza. Spoiler alert: he gets a lot more, and a lot less, than a pizza.





	meat lover's

**Author's Note:**

> this was my fma secret santa gift for flamealchemist on tumblr!!! i'm so sorry it's being delivered to you literally at the latest possible moment. my life is a mess rn
> 
> i hope you enjoy it even a little <3 thank you so much for being a part of this fandom!

The worst decision Edward has ever made was the one where he decided it’d be a great idea to triple-major. In physics, philosophy, and biochemistry.

To be fair, he was intoxicated when he made that particular email request. And then he was ridiculous enough to go along with it. He blames Alphonse. 

But now, he’s about to be up at a ridiculous hour of the night (morning), staring both a term paper and a panic attack in the face. He has himself locked in his and Al’s studio apartment, his coffee pot ready to fill his cup on demand. He’s pointedly ignoring the torrential downpour going on outside, which is ready to terminate his tentative wifi connection at a moment’s notice. He has to get this paper done by tomorrow morning at ten, even if the power goes out. It’s what he gets, really, for taking all the hard classes his junior year and then procrastinating his life away.

And to make matters worse, he has an issue surfacing that’s nearly as bad as the fact that he still has four thousand useless words to write on fucking _Carbon fixation_ in metabolic pathways (Ed is never doing anything with plant biology ever again). He’s hungry— _ravenously_ hungry, as he tens to get—and the only things he has in his fridge is a box of eggs, Almond milk, some old frozen tater tots, and sriracha ketchup. “I’m so fucked,” he repeats, for the twentieth time.

There’s only one thing that can bring him any peace of mind right now.

Thank _every_ _god_ Pizza Palace delivers until two in the morning. Most places in his sleepy college town close by at least ten, midnight on weekends, but Pizza Palace is different. Pizza Palace always has his back. “Mmkay,” he tries to sigh, a nice long exhale to relax, as he pulls up the delivery website. Hot damn. They have a new oreo dessert pizza that he’ll definitely be getting. He already feels slightly better.

 _Start your order_. It’s all going to be okay. He’s an hour or less away from the best stress relief on the planet, and he’s already promised himself that if he gets a thousand words done before the pizza arrives (highly unlikely), then he can watch an episode of Naruto while eating. And, really, he’ll probably watch the Naruto episode, anyway. He loves being anime trash just as much as he loves pizza and _not doing his fucking homework_.

The first thing he adds to his digital basket is the oreo pizza. Then he heads right over to the mystical Meat Lover’s, selecting the button for thick crust, relishing in the way the large option looks on his screen. He’s so close. Extra cheese. Garlic sauce. So fucking close.

After tax and delivery fee, the order comes out to nearly thirty dollars. Ed honestly doesn’t care at this point, just enters the card information that he has ready to go, clicks on the address they have on file for him, and smiles wistfully at the estimated time. Forty-five minutes is what he’s prescribed, but he fears it’ll be a bit longer with the weather. It’s okay. His driver will be getting a more than generous tip.

“Okay, Edward,” He clears his throat as he minimizes the google chrome window, “a thousand words in approximately forty-five minutes. You can maybe do this.”

\---

When he reaches that thousand word promise, he can’t believe it. How? How did he write a thousand words before the pizza’s arrival? 

Because it’s been an hour and a half. He hasn’t paid any attention to the time, just had his phone on high volume and has been listening out for the doorbell. But it’s close to two in the morning now and he’s genuinely going to be worried if it doesn’t show up in about five minutes. 

He speeds to look out the window. Is that slushy ice on the ground?

Edward promptly makes his way to the shoddy online status checker, which states that his order has been out for delivery for at least an hour. The Palace is a 15-minute drive if you take the freeway; was there an ice storm? An accident? _Two_ accidents?

Edward is certainly not one to believe in fate, but at that moment, his phone rings.

He picks it up with great haste. “Hello?” he says, his stomach growling loudly in the background.

“Pizza Palace,” an obnoxiously chipper voice greets him in return, “at your door!”

The blond has his door open in mere seconds, fast enough that the delivery person has yet to even terminate their phone call. Shock does not display on their face, which remains bizarrely pleasant, despite the fact that they jumped at the force of Edward’s exit.

That is _definitely_ slushy ice on the ground.

“Sorry about the weather,” Ed mumbles, a bit ashamed that he made this person drive through this sort of weather. He is incredibly prepared to give a bountiful tip. “Thanks, though.”

“Ah, haha, you’re welcome,” the driver responds. The nametag on his shirt reads ‘Ling.’ He presents the covered box and nods toward the door. “Actually, I have good news and bad news. First, I’m happy to inform you that I’m not looking to brutally murder you.”

Ed blinks. _What?_ “Was… was that the good news?” 

Ling waves a hand dismissively, that unshakeable pleasant look still on his face. His breath comes out in short bursts of frost and Ed’s automail ports are growing sorer by the second. “No, not at all! I was just going to ask if I could come inside for a bit. Part of the good news is that you’ll have my company until the morning, and—” 

“Wait, _what?”_

Ling’s smile only furthers. Edward does not have the patience aptitude for this. “Well, you see, there was a five-car pileup on the freeway, and then another wreck a bit after that one, so I was stuck in traffic for a while. My car sort-of ran out of gas by the time I got here! And I couldn’t, in good faith, wake up one of my friends to come drive through icy roads to get me.”

Edward wants to die. Of course he was right. And of course, tonight of all nights, he encouraged Al and the cat to stay at Winry’s. “I. I’m literally going to be working on homework all night. I just wanted pizza.”

“And I wanted to be home by now. But, hey! The other half of the good news is that I have a ton of free pizza and cheesy bread vouchers.”

Ed sees that his pockets are stuffed full of them; they poke out of the tops. His brain is trying to juggle his paper, the prospect of food, and an invader all at once and on limited sleep. The math that follows is simple: free pizza = good. With great feeling and sympathy, he lets the stranger into his home. 

After he shuts the door behind them, Ed sends a quick text to Alphonse— _pizza delivery guy has 2 take shelter here for the night. name is ling. pizza palace. if i die i died happy_ —and then looked up to see Ling putting the two boxes of food on the counter. Was it his imagination, or did they sound a bit… _lighter_ than they should?

“Your name is Edward, yes? I got it from the order. If you haven’t seen my tag yet, I’m Ling. I think we go to the same school.” 

“No shit?” Edward questions, laboring to put on his best, most welcoming smile. He is too introverted for this. He heads over to the counter space. “What department? Also, since you’re here, you’re welcome to some pizza.” His mother _did_ teach him basic manners.

“Political science,” Ling answers, still with that smile. “And thank you; that’s very kind.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad deal. Ling seems nice enough. Ling is also, coincidentally, nice enough _looking_ ; the dude is wearing short sleeves in this hell weather, which provides a nice peek at some heavy artillery, as well as second-hand frostbite. Ed goes to move the first and smallest box, which he assumes is going to be the dessert pizza, to the side. That’s when he really gets a feel for the weight of the container. It really is far too light.

He looks at Ling again, brows saturated with suspicion. He decides to peek inside the box first, and finds…

He lets out a dramatic and audible gasp.

Two slices are left.

He quickly shoves away the box to throw open the lid of the Meat Lover’s, his holy grail, his saving grace. Three out of ten slices remain.

He can’t tell if it’s blind rage or pure desolation that causes his eyes to well with a sudden and unstoppable wetness. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ling reach for a slice of the remains of his oreo pizza. Edward swats it away with his metal hand, relishing in the alarm that passes through the other’s face.

“What happened here…?” He croaks, with the voice of a dead man.

“Oh!” Ling gives a small laugh. “Did I not tell you the bad news? See, I happen to have a spot of hypoglycemia, and when I get hungry, I really have to eat, you know? Or I just fall out! It’s wild. Anyway, while I was stuck in traffic, I got hungry.”

“And you ate nearly _all of my fucking pizza?!_ ”

Ling offers no words, just a smile, as he pulls out two fistfuls of free coupons.

 _No_ , Edward thinks, the bad news is that unlike the person standing before him, he has every intention of committing murder tonight. Botany be damned.


End file.
